


Sharing the Load

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Superstition - Superstition_hockey (Original Work)
Genre: Autism, M/M, Marriage, POV Autistic Character, Therapy, autistic author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: After Everest, Luc and Jacks go to therapy.
Relationships: Luc Chantal/Olliver Jackson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Sharing the Load

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wereflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wereflamingo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [L’hiver est là qui montre les crocs…](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718869) by [Superstition_hockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey). 



Luc's sports psychologist heard them out with a thoughtful air. "I can help Luc out with his issues related to retirement and adrenaline-seeking, but I'm not a couples' counselor. If you have issues to work through together, you really should have a therapist who focuses on those issues. I can give you some referrals, if you like."

"Yes, please," Jacks said firmly.

"Okay," Luc said.

Jacks shot him a surprised look, which Luc was a little hurt by. He wasn't always the most perceptive guy, but he was _coachable_. When the coach or doc or whoever told you what needed to be done to fix the problem, you did it, unless you had a damn good reason why. Jacks knew that. Jacks knew _Luc_ knew that. Why was he expecting Luc to balk? Luc had been an asshole, he knew that, but surely not enough of an asshole to make Jacks doubt all that he knew about Luc? He shoved down his hurt. _He_ had been the asshole, he didn't get to feel hurt about Jacks' reaction. He still felt a little hollow inside.

* * *

The therapist they picked was named Paige Gauthier, a middle-aged person whose office had an overstuffed couch and three comfy-looking club chairs. "Welcome!" they said, when Luc and Jacks walked in.

"Hi," Luc said, eyeing the furniture. Were he and Jacks supposed to sit together on the couch? Separately in chairs? Where would Jacks want to sit, and would he or the doc read anything into where Luc chose to sit? He was definitely overthinking this, but he was out of his depth and knew it. In all the years since he and Jacks had met, he'd never doubted either Jacks or their relationship.

"Hello," Jacks said. He shook hands with the therapist, and took a seat on a couch. Luc joined him, but not as close as he normally would. He didn't want Jacks to feel like he was assuming anything.

"So," Paige said, handing them both a pad of paper and a pencil, "We've talked about the troubles you've been having over the phone, and what you want out of therapy. I would like both of you to write down a three-sentence summary of why you're here."

"Only three sentences?" Jacks said. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"I know," she said. "It always is. Relationships are complicated things. But it often helps to focus on what each of you perceive as the heart of the matter."

Luc looked down at his paper. It was actually fairly simple, when you got down to it. _I was an asshole_ , he wrote. _I did something stupid and dangerous that could have gotten me killed. When Jacks didn't want me to, I said some really horrible and untrue things._ He tore the sheet of paper off the pad and handed it to Paige, who took it and read it with a neutral face.

Beside him, Jacks hadn't even started writing yet. He was staring down at the pad, tapping the eraser on it, frowning. Normally, Luc would have leaned over and looked, but things weren't normal, and he didn't want Jacks to think he was prying. He looked at the art on the walls instead. It didn't look much like Sveta's art, not abstract enough.

When Jacks was done, she didn't read them both aloud as he'd half expected, just looked at it and tucked it away. Instead, she started explaining how she would like them to talk during these sessions (and, as much as possible, whenever they were having serious or important discussions outside of them). The rules all made sense—listen actively, put things in your own words to check if you understand, talk about your own thoughts and feelings instead of focusing on the problems you see in the other person, things like that—but Luc felt restless. They knew how to talk; they'd _been_ talking since they were kids. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that Luc had done something stupid and then been an asshole about it, and now he needed to learn how to not be a stupid asshole.

"Shouldn't we be talking about the actual reason we're here?" he asked, when Paige asked them to name a small conflict they had and use the skills she'd just taught them to discuss it.

Paige cocked her head. "Imagine you were coaching someone who had been a figure skater all their life, and wanted to learn hockey. They'd never worn hockey skates before, never done any shooting drills or puck handling drills. And they wanted to start playing the game right away."

"I'd tell them they needed to at least learn how to stop without a toe-pick before we tried anything complicated," Luc said. He nodded, seeing where she was going with the analogy.

"Because if they'd didn't, they'd just crash into the boards or trip over their own two feet," Paige said. "You have to practice before you're ready for the actual game. Now, in the case of the hockey-playing figure-skater, they wouldn’t accomplish anything by trying to play without knowing how, but the worst that would happen is a few bruises, right?"

"Yeah," Luc said.

"What's the worst that could happen here if we dive straight into the heart of your problems without giving you a chance to practice how to talk about hard things without fighting?" Paige let that sink in for a few seconds. "Sometimes you have to practice skills on easy mode before you're ready for hard mode."

Luc nodded. "Got it." He felt bad; he prided himself on being coachable, and here he was doubting the coach's plays.

And, honestly, once they'd gotten into it, he could see why she'd insisted on practicing first, because it was really fucking hard.

* * *

"So, what did you think?" Jacks asked, about halfway home from their first session.

"I feel like the worst husband ever," Luc said. "I thought I understood you. But apparently not." How many times in that hour had Paige turned to Jacks and asked _do you think that was an accurate summary of what you said?_ Sometimes Jacks had said _yes_ , but … he'd said _no_ more.

"You always—" Jacks broke off, and Luc wondered if he could hear the therapist's voice, too. She'd interrupted him, gently, several times to remind him to use "I statements" instead of "you statements." _His actions and your feelings about his actions are not the same thing, Oliver_. "Most of the time, you know me better than I know myself," he said at last. "Which may be why it hurts so much when you completely misunderstand."

"Oli, I'm sorry," Luc said, sincerely. "I'll try and learn to do better."

They coasted to a stop at a red light. They probably could have made it, if Jacks had sped up. "I get really annoyed," he said carefully, "at the way you make everything all about you and your feelings."

Luc bit his tongue and, mindful of Paige's advice not to respond hastily or in the grips of a strong emotion, did not say the first thing he thought of. "I did something stupid and wrong, and I was an asshole about it, and I hurt you, and I could have ended up hurting you and the kids a lot worse. And now I find out that there have been problems all along I never noticed because I thought I knew you so well I didn't even _check_. Am I supposed to feel good about all of that?"

"No, of course not," Jacks said as the light turned green.

"Well then," Luc said. They drove in silence the rest of the way home.

They pulled up into the garage and Luc started to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"The thing is, Luc," Jacks said, "what good does it do anyone if you focus so much on _your_ guilt, _your_ feelings about what you did that you can't hear what I actually need from you?" He got out of the car and went into the house.

Luc sat there, halfway unbuckled, banged his head against the headrest behind him, and swore.

* * *

The thing was, therapy was _really fucking hard work_ , which Luc had known since the first time he'd seen a sports psychologist for his rituals and eating disorder. But it was a relief to have a plan, to have skills to learn and practice, to have someone guiding the rebuilding of their relationship. Luc could see things were getting better; it wasn't a straight line, but no plan ever was. You trained, you worked hard, you took the hit when you failed, you came up with a better plan for next time, you worked harder. He felt like he was getting his feet under him after a bad check.

Then one day, Paige frowned at something Jacks said. "I'd like to take a break from this exercise for a bit, and ask some questions, if that's okay."

"Sure," Luc said. He looked at Jacks, who shrugged.

Paige adjusted her glasses. "Luc, how often do you feel that you don't understand the people around you?"

"All the time," Luc said. "I mean, I know Jacks really well, and Crash is easy to understand, but I don't get other people."

Paige asked some more questions about that, and then started going in truly weird directions. Did he ever have physical sensations overwhelm him in a bad way? Did he ever feel bad because he needed more sensation? Were there particular tastes, smells, sounds, textures, or colors that he perceived differently than other people seemed to? (That line of questioning lasted quite a while, and crossed over with things he'd discussed with his sports psychologist at various times.)

Did he ever have problems switching from one task to another? Were there times he couldn't focus even on things he genuinely wanted to do? Were there times he was _too_ focused, and couldn't stop thinking or talking about or doing something? (Jacks laughed at that and nodded emphatically.)

Then Paige started asking about his _childhood_ , and Luc was really bewildered.

"Can I ask what this has to do with anything?" Jacks asked. "It's obvious you're looking for something. What is it?"

Paige sighed. "Luc, have you ever been screened for autism?"

Luc frowned. "That thing where some kids can't look you in the eye and don't like to be touched?"

"Autism is a lifelong condition, not only found in children, but it does present that way some of the time," Paige said.

"But … Luc can't be autistic," Jacks said, bewildered. "He's got a _lot_ of friends. He's very social. He feels things very strongly. He sucks at math."

Paige winced. "Those are all stereotypes that are actually not very accurate."

"Wouldn't my parents know?" Luc said. "They're professors, they know a lot of stuff. Wouldn't my teachers have figured it out?"

"Well, that's the thing," Paige said. "They might not have. The diagnostic criteria for autism a generation ago was _heavily_ trauma-based. That is, autistic people don't really fit into the world very well, and efforts to _force_ them to fit in can be traumatizing. And most autistics are, to some extent, forced to fit in. And the resulting trauma responses were the core of the diagnostic criteria. So if you had an autistic child whose parents worked to find ways to accommodate their needs, that child might not fit the criteria because they hadn't been traumatized enough. There was actually a trend in the 2010s where parents of autistic children would request accommodations in school for their child, and be denied because the child couldn't be diagnosed. A year or two in school with no accommodations, and the child would be traumatized and having serious problems … and would then qualify for a diagnosis."

"That is _messed up_ ," Luc said in shock. "So, wait, they couldn't get the school to not hurt them until _after_ they'd already been fucked up?"

"Yeah," Paige said. "The good news is, it _did_ eventually lead to a better understanding of autism and diagnostic criteria that don't need the autistic to be traumatized in order to be correctly diagnosed."

"Sucked for those kids, though," Luc said.

"Oh, absolutely," Paige said. "In any case, you would have been a child as all this was happening. If your parents successfully met your needs, and if your school was willing to be flexible and adapt and accommodate you—"

"My parents are _really good_ at getting people to do what they want," Luc said.

"Well, and also, you were a hockey star from the time you were a Mite," Jacks said, voice dry. "If there's one thing you can count on a Canadian school doing, it's bending over backwards for a really good hockey player."

Luc nodded.

"Then you probably didn't meet the diagnostic criteria as a child, even if you _are_ autistic," Paige said. "And honestly, there are two main reasons people get diagnosed: to get accommodations they need for work or school, or for better self-understanding. As one of the best hockey players in the world, you didn't need to have a piece of paper with a diagnosis on it for people to adapt to your needs."

"This is all fascinating," Jacks said, "but what does it matter now? I still don't see it, and even if he _is_ , he's done just fine until now."

"Whether or not it matters depends on Luc," Paige said. She turned her attention to Luc. "A lot of people find that learning they're autistic explains a lot about their life and their relationships with other people. It can be a relief, and sharing tips and strategies with other autistics can be life-changing. I don't know for sure you're autistic, and I'm not qualified to diagnose. But honestly, I would be _very_ surprised if you weren't, and it would be irresponsible of me not to point out the option. I'm going to send you some information and some writings by autistic people. If none of it sounds familiar to you, then fair enough, I'm wrong."

"And what if it does sound familiar?" Luc asked.

They shrugged. "Then you know more about yourself than you did before, and what you do with that knowledge is up to you."

"What was it that made you think he might be autistic?" Jacks asked.

"A lot of little things," Paige said. "But the tipping point was noticing how much you both assume that _your_ perception of things is always correct and Luc us wrong, if there's a difference. Autistic people perceive the world very differently than most people do, and get used to being told they're wrong all the time, even about their own thoughts and feelings and sensations, but especially about other people and social situations. If that happens often enough, you start to doubt your own judgment. You assume that other people are always right, and you are always wrong."

"That's not Luc at _all_ ," Jacks said. "He's always extremely confident in his own judgment, even when he's wrong. It can be very annoying."

"If that's the case, then why does he so frequently defer to your understanding of what's going on around him, especially social situations?" Paige said.

"Well, you've only seen us for a few months, and Luc knows he screwed up and I think he lost some confidence because of that," Jacks said.

"I don't doubt it," Paige said. "But are you honestly telling me that under normal conditions he _doesn't_ rely on your judgment more than his own?"

"I totally do," Luc said. "When it comes to other people or what's normal or shit like that. You make the best plays, Oli."

"That's pretty common for autistics," Paige said. "Of course, the problem is that while the allistic—that is to say, the non-autistic—partner may be more astute at picking up social nuances, a relationship where one partner is always assumed to be right isn't very healthy."

"If you're not qualified to diagnose autism, how come you know so much about it?" Jacks asked.

"Besides the fact that it affects how people relate to one another, you mean?" Paige said, tilting her head. "I'm autistic myself."

* * *

"So what do you think?" Luc asked on the drive home.

Jacks shrugged. "I just don't see it. I mean, if one of us _was_ going to have autism, shouldn't it be me? I'm the geek, after all."

"Yeah," Luc said. "With your Trek Wars and all." That got a laugh out of Jacks, which felt really good.

* * *

Luc dutifully sat down with the links Paige sent him and started reading through them, beginning with the professional articles. It was interesting, and there were enough things he recognized that he could sort of see why Paige thought this was worth exploring, but overall, he just didn't see it. He wasn't like Julia on Sesame Street, never had been. Bells, now, they might want to have Bells checked.

Then he got to the personal essays.

 _… Taste is not universal. Everyone has personal preferences, things they like or don't like, and mostly people respect that. When it's other peoples' tastes. Mine are, apparently, too weird to take seriously, and so people give me all kinds of shit about it. My favorite meal in the world is genuinely a McDonalds cheeseburger and fries. More expensive burgers at more upscale restaurants are fine, as long as they're just a basic burger, but lots of places will have special sauces or gourmet cheeses or signature add-ons that ruin it for me. I get that other people like these things, but I don't. For my birthday last year, my coworkers asked where I wanted to go for a birthday meal. I said McDonalds, because I like their burgers. Instead, they insisted on taking me to this fancy burger place where you could not get a basic burger for love or money—and I know, because I tried. Every single thing on the menu had_ something _about it that I didn't like, and when I tried to explain what I actually wanted in a burger, they made fun of me, both my coworkers and the waiters. What a wonderful birthday that was, you guys…._

_… Why is it that nobody, even people who've known me my whole life, who genuinely love me and care about me, believe that I understand and am accurately describing my own thoughts and feelings? I can't tell you how many times I've tried to explain how I feel about something, only for them to tell me I must be wrong, I must be thinking something else instead. I don't doubt their understandings of their own mind, why do they doubt mine?..._

_… I know that I see the world differently than other people do. I know that I have trouble reading other peoples' social cues. I have explained this to many people over the years. I'm not stupid, but I need other people to explain what they're thinking and feeling because I am probably not going to pick up on it without help. This is because I have a disability; there is a part of my brain that doesn't work quite right. Yet somehow, even when I've explained all of this, if I miss some hint or social cue (or even if I pick up on it but respond differently than they want me to) people assume it's because I'm a jerk who is intentionally trying to make their life harder. I mean, I can be a jerk sometimes, I'm not perfect, but I'm tired of getting jumped on for genuinely not understanding things everyone else thinks are obvious. If it's so fucking obvious, then fucking explain it to me in terms I can understand. If you can't or won't do that, then the problem isn't me, it's you….  
_  
_… For me, dance is essential. If I cannot dance, I cannot live. I do not fit in the world; it is a strange and alien place filled with things that hurt and things that make me viscerally uncomfortable, with things that are unpredictable and chaotic, with people who do not understand me and whom I am likewise baffled by. But on the dance floor, everything is as it should be. On the dance floor, all the pain and discomfort is quieted. On the dancefloor, there are patterns that I understand. On the dancefloor, I am a respected and needed part of the community. As long as I can dance, everything else in my life is manageable. When I broke my foot last year and couldn't dance for three months, everything else in my life fell apart. Work was harder. Dealing with people was harder. Eating was harder. It was as if my ability to cope with stress had shattered along with the bone….  
_  
The last post on Paige's list, the one by the dancer, Luc re-read it half a dozen times.

Then he went back and re-read the layman's explanation of the diagnostic criteria with sharper eyes.

* * *

"You really think there's something to this?" Jacks asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Luc said. "Maybe?" He shrugged. "Some of those articles and posts and shit written by autistics were … it was like they could see inside my head. A lot of the specifics were different, but the stuff underneath it, I've _been_ there."

Jacks was quiet for a bit. "Okay," he said. "Send me the ones that feel most familiar to you, and I'll read them."

* * *

"So, you may be right," Luc told Paige at their next session. "What next? Do I you refer me to someone who can do a diagnosis?"

"If you want," Paige said. "You don't need official documentation for job or school purposes; many autistics find that they get more help and understanding by talking to other autistics than from therapy specifically for autism, and you don't need a formal diagnosis to talk to people and explore the possibility. Oh, your other psychologist definitely needs to know you might be autistic, and he might not be willing to take self-diagnosis into account, in which case you _would_ need a formal diagnosis."

"Do you think his eating disorder was misdiagnosed?" Jacks asked, face intent. "Do you think it's autistic sensory issues with food, instead?"

Paige shook her head. "Having sensory issues with your food is not the same thing as having an eating disorder, although the one can contribute to the other. Autism has a lot of comorbidities—70% of all autistics have at least one other diagnosable neurological, developmental, or mental health condition. 40% have two. It's not that I think his previous diagnosis was _wrong_ , just incomplete, and treatment will probably be more effective if autism is taken into account."

"Yeah," Luc said, nodding. "I get what you're saying. I get way to focused on my macros, and trying to find the perfect balance of food, and I get anxious if I'm not controlling things that way and it can take me to some bad places. But I also genuinely _like_ cauliflower smoothies and protein bars and stuff like that, and there are a lot of desserts I just plain don't like. But if I skip dessert, people who know I've got an eating disorder think it's because of the eating disorder. Even Jacks."

Jacks was nodding, face intent, and Luc could see him thinking all of this through. "So what about our sessions? Do you think our problems are because of Luc's autism?"

"Hey," Luc said, "we're having problems because I did something stupid and was a horrible asshole to you about it. That's not because of autism, that's because I was a stupid asshole who made bad choices and talked shit."

"The autistic rate of divorce or marital problems is no higher than the general population," Paige said. "Does it affect your relationship? Of course. Does it, on its own, cause problems? Not any more than a million other things can and do. Now, I absolutely do want to address some issues that I think will help you communicate more successfully going forward, but I don't think that autism is the root of your problems, per se."

"How do you think autism might affect our relationship?" Jacks asked.

"Any number of ways, but two come to mind," Paige said. "First, as I mentioned last time, my understanding is that in many circumstances, particularly social situations, you both automatically assume that if your understandings of situations differ, then Oliver is right and Luc is wrong."

"Hey, we're here because of a situation where Jacks was right and I was wrong," Luc pointed out.

"Yes, but _everybody_ has times when they're wrong, just as everybody has times when they're right." Paige shoved their glasses up their nose. "Always defaulting to one person being right and one person being wrong isn't fair to the one who is judged as wrong, because it means that nobody notices when they _are_ right. Resolving issues related to your fight about Everest is a good goal, but hopefully in the process you'll both learn better skills at maintaining a healthy and good relationship … and most problems aren't a clean-cut who's-right-who's-wrong sort of situation."

It sounded logical, but Luc wasn't so sure. Jacks usually _was_ right, especially when it came to dealing with people. He was the best playmaker. He _got_ other people, in ways that Luc never had.

"What's the second thing?" Jacks asked.

"In your reading, did you pick up on the idea of 'load-bearing' routines?"

"No," Jacks said.

"Not really?" Luc said.

"Okay," Paige said. "It's a metaphor in which your life is a house. Most peoples' houses are fairly robust: you can remodel things, knock down a wall or two, put on an addition, it's all fine. Autistic people tend to be more fragile, because there are a number of things in modern society that our brains just don't handle well. We have to cobble together a lot of jury-rigged workarounds. The things we depend on, we _really_ depend on. If our lives or minds are a house, we don't have enough load-bearing walls, and so we shore things up however we can. If you take away a load-bearing wall or support, everything starts crumbling and you may not even be able to pinpoint why. Or, if you _can_ pinpoint why, you may not be able to figure out how to deal with things if you can't get the original support back."

Luc flopped back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling as many things fell into place. "That's why I felt like I needed to climb Everest."

"Wait, what?" Jacks poked Luc. "Explain."

"Hockey has always been how I cope with shit," Luc said slowly, turning this new perspective over and over in his mind. "You remember how that dancer talked about how much she needed dance in order to cope with life? That's me, with hockey. All the things that are hard or that I don't get just … stop mattering, on the ice. Everything falls into place. And my entire life was scheduled and regimented by the team. Like, I had flexibility within that, but I could just … let them take care of things, so I didn't have to. And most of my life was taken up by training, or playing, or other prep work. It was solid, it was dependable, I knew how to do it and everything was built around the ice."

"And then it was all gone," Jacks said.

"And then it was all gone," Luc said. "I mean, I can go skate, but not as much as I did, and there's no way I could play enough pick-up games to make up for what I was doing. And I don't need to train because I have nothing to work towards. And the schedule is gone, and _I_ have to decide things that my team always decided for me. And it's really hard."

Jacks nodded. "And training for Everest, you got the schedule and intensity back."

"Yeah," Luc said. "And it was such a relief. I couldn't understand why you didn't get it. And then I almost died up on that mountain, and I realized just how shitty the things I said were, and what it would have done to you and the kids if I _had_ died. There were moments, in training and on the way up, when I felt better than I have since I retired. But those moments weren't worth it, not in the long run … and even if they were, they weren't an excuse to say such shitty and untrue things."

Jacks studied him. "So, what do you need to be load-bearing, if you can't have hockey?" Luc knew that face, it was the face he got when he was studying a situation, usually right before he came up with the best plays.

"I don't know," Luc said. "But now that I know what to look out for, I bet we can figure something out." He thought for a bit. "I always feel so good after you tie me up. Maybe we need to do more of that?"

Jacks laughed. "That is a sacrifice I am _more_ than willing to make."

Luc smiled. They hadn't done anything like that since before Everest; you needed to trust your partner and be comfortable with them, for it to really work, and they just … hadn't had that.

"So, doc," Jacks said. "Is that it? Are we done here?"

"You can be if you really _want_ to be," Paige said, "after all, it's your choice and your money. But my experience is that a dramatic revelation and close moment doesn't work a miraculous change unless you're in a movie or novel. It helps, sure, but you still need to do the basic work of learning how to communicate better over the long haul, so I would recommend continuing at least for a few more sessions to make sure things are on the right track."

"No," Jacks said, "I mean, for today."

"Oh!" Paige checked their watch. "It is about time, actually. For your homework this week, I think you should continue to think about what things besides sex might help to bear some of the load hockey used to carry—it's always better to have more things to share the load. And also, see if you can think about a situation where Oliver was wrong and Luc was right, and we'll talk about it next week."

**Author's Note:**

> On [tumblr](https://beatrice-otter.tumblr.com/post/639138237191012352/yuletide-reveal-sharing-the-load). [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1963432). [Dreamwidth](https://beatrice-otter.dreamwidth.org/414623.html)


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